


Wild Horses

by whitewolfbumble



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Biker Bucky Barnes, Bikers, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Motorcycles, Nurses, Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Reader-Insert, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:10:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfbumble/pseuds/whitewolfbumble
Summary: Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Note that there is very mild injury throughout, and one minor character death/severe injury in chapter four of this series. 
> 
> I've finished writing this series so I will be posting this fairly quickly. Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

Sommerville was quiet to say the least. The sun had painted everything yellow with time and the wind had washed everything in a hazy dust. There were a few diners, more bars, and a quaint little town square that held the town’s celebrations and traditional get-togethers.

You actually lived in an even smaller, more remote town named Kent just on the outskirts of Sommerville, even more forgotten in time, believe it or not. There was a grand total of two bars, one general store, and a small postal stand. Not even a church was planted here; just like time, apparently God ignored this place too.

And that was exactly why you had come back after all these years. You wanted to forget and to be ignored. You had been in school- and genuinely loved it- but after failing out of course after course, realized that it clearly wasn’t for you. The dean had made it clear that it was no place for you either. So you reasoned you didn’t deserve someplace beautiful or cultured or homey. The only place you thought you deserved instead was Kent.

This dusty tumbleweed of a town was where you spent your summers growing up, staying with your grandma and living out the most boring version of life you could think of. She was gone but her house, frozen in time, remained. You couldn’t face your family or friends after the biggest, most embarrassing failure in your life, but a town of 50 strangers? That you could probably deal with.

But since those childhood summer days, blistering in the heat, things had turned a little more spicy.

Not too long after you sneaked into town, another presence rolled into it. Literally, in fact, on rumbling, smokey motorcycles, clad in leather jackets, faces covered with bandanas against the dust roads.

They had been all but run out of Sommerville, but your town, although wary of them, didn’t have as much of a luxurious standing to turn any paying customer away. So the people kept their distance, and out of respect, the gang kept theirs. An unspoken accord struck between the two sides.

You kept to yourself too, not exactly fitting in with most of the townspeople anyway, considering the average age was about seventy around here. The most social you would be, if you called it that, was sitting down at the bar for a drink and some food. That was what started it all.

“You’ve almost gone through every item on the menu, honey,” the bartender, a miss Maria Hill, said pleasantly. “Hopefully you find a favourite before it’s up or you’ll be fixed.”

She was probably in her thirties (you guessed), looked like she was in her forties, but dressed like she was in her twenties. After your frequent enough visits here, you were starting to get along with her well enough. Not exactly friends, but friendly enough.

“Maybe I’ll just have to get a few more drinks in me. I’m sure with enough of that I won’t care much for what you put down in front of me.” you said, not unkindly.

But you knew Maria hated the cook as much as you did the food here, and laughed hoarsely at the joke, moving down the bar to the regulars while she cleaned a glass with a dirty looking cloth. As much as the menu wasn’t thrilling, this was one of two establishments in town… And the other, you, along with every semi-respectable townsperson still breathing, did not go into.

It was mid afternoon now, a few patrons in here already. Most of the town drank so at night this was the place to be. That was generally why you came early. It wasn’t as though you hated people necessarily, you just wanted this time to yourself. To figure out what the hell you where you doing. You thought at first it would be easy to answer a question like that in Kent without the noise of life happening around you back home.

The suddenly sharp sound of shattering glass drilled a shock through you as you held your drink, liquid spilling over the sides. You snapped your head to look along the bar reflexively, seeing two drunken idiots- the same drunken idiots Maria usually cut off long before this point- had broken into a pathetic fight. Typical.

Their arms were locked together, grunting and shuffling against the bar, knocking over stools and drinks and eventually each other. The pair fell in a sputtering choke on the floor, causing enough of a racket for Nick, the bar owner, to come out from his office. Hoisting them up by the scruff of their necks and, much like in the westerns you used to watch back in the day, threw the two out of the bar and onto the dirt road. Nick sauntered back in and walked to his office, destined to repeat this action daily until the end of his days no doubt.

There was a minute or two of you munching on your greasy nachos before a tap came at your shoulder. Turning, you were a little surprised to see Maria, her presence on the other side of the bar weirdly a bit of a shock.

“I think one of them boys need some of your help, Y/N? If you’re willing to give it.”

Somewhere along the lines you had let slip after one drink too many that it was med school you had been attending, training to be a nurse. 

That was how this all began, really. A silly bar fight between two drunken idiots. Little did you know.

* * *

Later that night you were in your grandma’s old little living room, dollies and butter yellow decor plastered up everywhere. The crickets and the sound of a western movie- because you had been thinking about it since the fight- the only sounds in the quiet country evening.

Until a phone call rang out from the rotary phone in the muted lime painted kitchen.

“Hello?” you answered sounding confused, not remembering when the last time this phone actually even rang.

“Hey honey, it’s Maria.” said the voice on the other line, more than a little surprising to you.

You bit your tongue from immediately spitting out a “Why?” which would sound more than a little rude, if not a truthful reaction.

“Oh, hi Maria… is… uh, what’s going on?” You honestly couldn’t think of a single reason why she would ever call you. And how she had your number you didn’t know either.

“I got a bit of an odd request for you, honey,” Her second one of the day. She was on a roll here. “I got some folks asking for you? Just wondering if you would be willing to do for them what you did to help the boys today?”

“Uh… Maria,” you started, even more confused. “I really not sure what you mean? Not to be rude but…”

“The nursing, I mean. They are looking to pay you to help them, patch them up and the like. They’d just like to talk to you is all. Would be pretty inhospitable if you didn’t hear them out, but that’s just my opinion.”

If it wasn’t for the guilt, you would have politely but straight-out declined. Obviously Maria had quite the handle on you.

One of the boys, as Maria called them, had cut himself on some broken glass during the bar fight earlier. It was a pretty basic cut, nothing that anyone else couldn’t fix.

“I don’t think I’m interested Maria, really. I never actually graduated I just-”

“Only a couple minutes of your time is all they need. Then you can make your decision, free and clear. You really should just hear them out. They need help and the closest hospital is clear in the next county so…”

“Alright,” you said, trying not to sigh in the phone. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning to talk with them, briefly.”

“They’re at the Anderson’s bar now, so you should get going. I’ll tell them you’ll be there in twenty. Thanks honey!” she spat out before the click of the phone ended the call.

You stood there, receiver in one hand with the other on your forehead.

* * *

You should have clued how strange it was that Maria asked you to go to the only other bar and competition to Nick’s Place in town, but you didn’t. Even as you pulled up some half an hour after her call, you still hadn’t. And not even the fifteen or so motorcycles tipped you off that you should maybe just turn around and pretend like it never happened.

Anderson’s was seedier than Nick’s believe it or not, but at least they had some pool tables and not an ill-used, out-of-date karaoke system.

When you walked in, you immediately knew this was not your kind of scene.

The place was crawling with rough looking men in leather jackets, the word “Avengers” embroidered in white but dust smeared lettering. Laughs and jeers and shouts echoed loudly, the raucous sounds heard above the heavy metal music.

The bar itself was drab and dingy, the same wood used for the flooring, the tables, the bar, and the walls. Smoke wafted up to the rafters and mingled in with the smell of beer and sweat. You found yourself quickly longing for the dainty yellow decor of your grandma’s dated living room over this.

“Oh shit,” you muttered, swallowing loudly, nerves instantly shot. You took a breath, realizing you weren’t even sure _who_ you were meeting in all of this.

You looked around, clear in every eye that watched you- meaning literally everyone there- that you were an outsider. Their apprehension and suspicious looks drilling into you as you awkwardly stood, looking through the bar to find someone dawn something that looked like acknowledgement.

You were a second away from turning around and forgetting you had ever been here, before someone walked right up to you and stood, planted firmly.

Looking to the man, you noted on his jacket the name “Sam”.

“Hey Sam,” you said stupidly when the man didn’t speak right away, just sized you up subtly. It could have been the trick of the light, but you thought you saw a hint of a smile.

“This way,” was all he said back, nodding back further into the bar and walking back there.

You hesitated, knowing if you were going to leave, now was the only time to do so. But a couple more guys walked in, pushing you farther into the bar. When Sam looked back you were already on your way, stumbling forward by the pushing of the entering patrons, so you just kept walking, panic shaking up in you with every step.

Faces and men blurred together in the small bar until you got to the back wall.

The space opened up slightly to a quieter room with a pool table there, a game already in play. And as you followed Sam heading towards a narrow door just beside the game, you saw him.

He was leaning back in a stool against the wall, pool cue in hand and foot up on the table. He wore his leather jacket and a white shirt, collar stretched out and dipping down to reveal a bit of his muscled chest. His hair was a shoulder-length rich brown, kinda parted haphazardly on the side. Stumble lined his strong jawline. 

But his eyes. 

Damn, they were the deepest, bluest eyes you had ever seen. This whole place- this whole town- was dusty, yellowed, and dried up. His eyes were like a cool drink of ice water on a blazing day and it took all but a split second for you to drown in them.

He watched you just as you watched him, both of you staring at each other, intent and unrealizing, you only snapping out of it when you entered the back room.

From then on the back of your mind was filled with nothing blue eyes. The cool of them settled a calm in your veins.

The little room was mostly empty and was once used as an office clearly, but the Avengers had taken it over. A man stood in front of you, leaning against the desk- the only piece of furniture in here besides a broken bookcase- with his arms crossed.

He was blonde and oddly sweet looking for someone in a motorcycle gang, but you doubted he was quite as cuddly as he looked. How could he be?

“My name’s Steve,” he started, with a nod to you. “Thanks for coming down, Y/N.”

You nodded back, a forced polite smile on your face, using it to hold back your anxiety.

“We have a proposition for you, that I hope you’ll consider.” he said, talking calmly like a business professional and not a ringleader in a decrepit back room of a seedy bar.

Oh god, you had no idea how this worked. Did you actually have a choice for whatever this “proposition” was? Like really, could you actually refuse them? Or would they just shoot you or burn your house down or make your life hell? You had been intent on avoiding the gang, like everyone else in town, not looking into how they operated. Maybe if you had been more curious you would know how this worked? In that moment you regretted every life decision that led you here, cursing every lasy day you had ever lived.

“My friend Sam here,” he continued, nodding to the man that was beside you. “Got word that you’re a nurse?”

“Uh, no. Well, not really.” you said, voice quiet even in this tiny room. “I mean I was at school getting my degree for nursing but was… well, I left.”

“Well, you have a lot more knowledge about it all than us I’m sure,” he said generously. “We’re looking to add someone like you into the fold, as it were. Full protection and other benefits, for your services.”

“So you… you what, want me as an… Avenger?” you asked, feeling instantly nauseous. You were not ready to join a gang. Ever. And definitely not tonight. Certainly not the Avengers. _Oh god_. 

He actually chuckled at your question and so did Sam beside you, making the cuddly look to him stand out. It was oddly infectious and you found yourself want to grin at the sound even amid your panic. There was nothing sinister to it at all, again, him seeming weirdly friendly.

“No no, not that,” he answered, a smile still on his face before settling into serious conversation again. “We just want to be able, should the occasion arise, to come to you for some medical treatment. Cut and scrapes and the like. And only when convenient to you, unless it’s an emergency of course. You understand.”

You furrowed your brow. That seemed… generally reasonable. And not worth avoiding if it meant them burning your house down or otherwise uprooting your quiet life here.

Cut and scrapes? No problem. In an emergency you’d just end up driving them to a hospital anyway most likely. And if this was not an invitation to the gang but a business deal instead, you must get some kind of compensation from them even. And you could use the money…

Logically it didn’t sound strictly terribly, but you were still thinking of excuses not to say yes, panic not quelled by a long shot.

“I don’t have any medical supplies though? It’s pretty expensive and I don’t know how long it’ll take to get everything I need,” you reasoned, searching for excuses. 

He tried not to perk up at your interest at even considering this, nodding conversationally at your words before dispelling them easily.

“You give us a list, and we’ll have what you need. Get it to you in three days, tops.”

The easy way in which he said that was certainly confident. You saw in his eyes and heard in his tone that he would. Whatever pull he had, it was a strong one.

“Okay,” you started slowly. “So am I… would I get… I mean, on my end of all this…”

“We’ll pay you $200 per visit as a base, plus whatever you want added on top of that depending the skills involved to patch us up. We’ll pay for supplies. Mileage is your responsibility.”

Well, Steve had certainly thought this through at length.

You shifted slightly on your feet, a little stunned that you were considering this even. But it’s not like you were working now, and you still had to pay for the school that you got kicked out of. That bitter thought stung.

“Option to renegotiate at a future time?” you added, squinting slightly like you were bracing for a rejection. “Since I would be an independent contractor, of sorts.”

“Of course,” the blonde said with a shrug, confidence still clinging to every word and gesture. “Provided you understand that this arrangement comes with a non-competition clause implied.”

You almost chuckled at that.

“I don’t know any other gangs, and it’s _not_ on my list to do so,” you said with an obvious edge to your voice. “I can definitively agree to that.”

“Great,” he said open-endedly, looking to you for confirmation on the agreement, brow slightly raised.

“So… we have a deal,” you said, practically seeing stars at those words.

Nerves bubbled to the surface of your mind and your stomach dropped, immediately regretting those words as soon as they left your mouth. You might have some of the details worked out, but you had no fucking clue what you _actually_ just signed up for.

“Great,” he said, a triumphant half-grin on his face. “Besides healing us, you won’t have to worry about a thing anymore. We’ll protect you, you’ll patch us up, then get paid for it.”

“Great,” you responded back, dazed and stomach rolling. You didn’t even really hear the part about protecting you, which was a mistake.

“Bucky, can you show her home?” Steve said, looking behind you to the door.

The blue-eyed man was standing in the doorway, taking up most of it. His eyes flitted down to you for a second, holding your gaze, before back to Steve. Your eyes stayed resting on the cool waters his ocean blue orbs held, again letting that calm wash over and settle you somewhat.

“Sure, Cap.” his voice sounded, smoother than velvet and deeper than the hole you found yourself in.

It was a nervous thrill and an ease that shifted in you as you walked out with this stranger named Bucky, head down as the pair of you walked through the crowded bar.

You didn’t doubt, thinking back later once your entire world was upside down and in shambles, that without his presence you would have turned on your heels and run back to refused Steve in that moment.

But you didn’t.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kicked out of school and exiling yourself in a town time forgot, one little incident lands the sights of the locally infamous Avengers biker gang square on you. Wild horses run faster and there was no chance to turn back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Note that there is very mild injury throughout, and one minor character death/severe injury in chapter four of this series.
> 
> Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think!

“Well, hi… I guess” you said, exhaling out the words. “Since, I suppose, someone has to speak. You seem intimidating enough as it is, figure it should be me. For my sake, at least.”

Maybe it was the surge of fresh air after breaking free of that crowded bar, tall still trees rising up like black shadows from the ground and blending with the inky black sky, protectively closing in around the little clearing. Or more likely it was the understanding that your whole life might just be going to hell that gave you the confidence to speak.

You felt damned and surprisingly freed by that, though your ever present nerves were putting up a fight nonetheless. There was no real way to turn back now, so you might as well say something to the man beside you. It’s not like the short walk across the crunchy gravel needed to be filled with conversation, but still.

A sideways glance came your way, matching yours to the figure beside you, profile of his face just barely lit by the warm glow of the country tavern to your backs.

“Hey Y/N,” Bucky said, amiable and friendly enough, with maybe even a little smirk. You wondered if he could see the conflict between giving in to the situation and the anxiety of letting go.

It was hard to tell in the dark night, the moon hidden away tonight. But you thought him a little impressive looking, his shadowy shape still with height and size not fully unseeable as you walked to the edge of the parking lot where your truck was. You should have been scared of him, but for better or worse, you just weren’t. Just like with Steve actually. Like the situation, that sat both comfortably and rather not at the same time. 

You made it to your truck, and turned to say a goodnight, but Bucky had slipped away into the darkness while you were struggling with the conflict inside you. You frowned slightly before hopping in with a shrug and lighting up your old truck. It revved to life and you were about to be on your way, when a loud motorcycle pulled up beside you from the shadows. Bucky.

He gave you a nod as though asking you to lead the way, which you obliged. His head lights stayed just behind you in your rearview mirror as the pair of you travelled down the unlit, dark, and dusty road home. It gave you enough space for your mind to catch up with the events of the night. Gave your nerves time too, grabbing hold of you and squeezing your lungs and throat like a corset.

Half way home an ear-piercing rumble made you jump up in your seat, looking frantically around. Somehow Bucky was already on your driver’s side, veering his bike into your front headlight. It made you slam on the brakes and turn off to the side sharply, bouncing madly as you stopped on the rocky shoulder of the road.

Bucky came to a rumbling stop just in front of you, sitting on the bike for a moment, watching something.

You didn’t wait just jumped out of the car, storming up beside him.

The man was goddamn mad, trying to drive you off the road!

You inhaled sharply, ready to ream him out (which probably wasn’t a good idea considering he was a relative stranger on a deserted and dark dirt, not to mention he was in a _gang_ and just based on his size could _definitely_ take you) but he held up a finger to his lips, then pointed it up the road.

You then saw it. A deer.

As your eyes adjusted, headlights only just reaching the creatures in the thick blackness, you clued in. Not one, but a few deer were just ahead, some hidden in the bushes waiting, some bounding across the open road.

You would have hit them. Maybe totaled your truck, or worse.

You both stayed still and silent until the little family had gone, prancing silently into the black woods.

“How could you have possibly seen that?” you remarked to Bucky, stunned. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Figured you were a little preoccupied, thought I would be proactive about it.” he responded.

You sighed, shaking your head and trying to knock out the future disaster he probably just saved you from, but you eyes caught something. It was the silver workings of his bike below the smooth black tank, glinting in your headlights.

“Oh my god, I ruined your bike?!” There were scratches and dents along the silver tubes and cylinders, along with a broken side mirror hanging on limply for dear life.

Was that as bad a killing their first born?! Probably. He was a part of a biker gang, of course. Oh god, this was where it all ended. Here in the dark on a dirt road. You prayed silently he would at least bury you and not let the animals pick your bones…

“Wait, oh holy shit, is your leg alright?!” you said suddenly, realizing that was exactly where his leg would rest, and you lurched closer to him.

Bucky put down the kickstand and stood up easily which halted you, looking a lot more unperturbed than you would be in such a situation. He almost seemed… amused? But that couldn’t be right.

“I’m fine, and the bike will be too,” he assured, leaning a hip against the seat. “Wouldn’t be much of a biker if I couldn’t fix a couple dents anyway.”

You did not get this man. At all.

You were about to protest… something, but you didn’t know what, looking around you like you were trying to find the words. As your brain stalled around the words you couldn’t yet voice, you realized your truck was dented and scratched by the impact. Which to you hardly mattered and barely gave a thought to it. Not with Bucky and his scrapped up bike in front of you.

“Listen,” he started before you could, pushing his hip off the bike and taking a step closer. “You might not be an Avenger, but part of the deal is protecting you like one. Even against Bambi and his friends.”

“Yeah,” you said, still a bit shocked. “Except you could have wiped out or I could have driven you right into them if I hadn’t stopped in time. You could have gotten hurt or died, Bucky.”

“You’re here if I get hurt, is my understanding of the deal Steve made with you tonight,” he said shrugging it off and stepping back to his bike, straddling it again. “And like I said, protecting you is my job now.”

By omission of addressing your last remark and choosing to reiterate the protection piece he had already gone over, you connected the dots in a moment. If protecting or saving you meant dying, he would do it.

_For the love of god this was crazy._

You couldn’t wrap your mind around that, not as you got in the car, not as you got home, not as Bucky nodded a kind goodnight then rode off once you locked your door.

You sat in bed, taking hours of restless shifting before convincing yourself it just wasn’t true. That he must’ve been joking. A few words and a flimsy agreement between Bucky’s boss and you wasn’t grounds enough for Bucky to so loyally and selflessly agree to protect you to his own death. That was ludacris. You meant nothing him.

* * *

 

The next day you didn’t know if you should be expecting a call every other minute, or complete silence for weeks on end. As luck would have it, though you waited and felt a little like a motorcycle had run over your chest, no call came.

In the morning your mind had conjured up thoughts of gunshot wounds, stabs to the stomach, and limbs crushed under thick rubber tires. But by evening the pressure of tension on your chest had eased considerably. And by mid afternoon on the second day, you had dove headlong into a book, ignoring the deal you had made completely. Normal life settled back into your household, and while endlessly boring, wasn’t wholly unpleasant.

By three o’clock, when the phone did ring, you were so absorbed in the book you managed to auto-pilot to the phone and held the receiver to your ear absently. You had already pictured this action a thousand times the day before, you were hardly fazed by it now, not cluing in to reality until the voice on the other end spoke.

“Hey Y/N, we need you down at Anderson’s,” said the caller. It sounded familiar. Maybe Sam? “Can you come by now?”

You whipped your book across the room, the spine slapping against the kitchen backsplash as the agreement came back to you mind. You took a deep before responding, trying to calm yourself.

“Sure thing, I’ll be down there soon.” You were almost proud at how normal you sounded.

The drive down held nothing but empty dirt roads cutting through a dry forest. Nothing could cut through your turning mind though. After the events of the other night you knew you should pay more attention to the road, but couldn’t help it.

The man on the phone didn’t sound frantic or upset in anyway, so you took that as a good sign. By the time you got there you convinced yourself it would be just a scrape.

The bar was quite a great deal less full than your last visit, with only a couple pairs hanging out in far corners hanging out during this mid-afternoon. One person was at the bar, arm laid on the bar with his palm up, gloved hand holding a beer in the other.

Bucky.

Your feet took you right up to him, the draw of blood dripping freely down his palm to the counter pulling you in. Or so you told yourself as you reached him, swallowing down the tension his bright gaze brought up in you. There was no dark evening to hide him from you now, or you from him. The stark light of day didn’t allow for much bravery, but still, you were here. Again, you would have guessed a mix of a devil-may-care look and downright nausea appeared on your face as you approached.

“What happened?” you asked, softer than usual, sliding up on the stool beside his, knocking knees.

He was wearing dark jeans, that white shirt with sleeves rolled up like he was James Dean or something, muscles not hiding as they stretched the fabric, and brown locks hanging loose. He was dusty and dirty and those blue eyes were still as piercing yet serene as when you first saw them.

You were distracted from reacting embarrassed by the connection when you gratefully saw a small first aid kit, well used but stocked full, out on the counter between you two.

“Hey Y/N,” he said, again with an easy kinda look on his face, like he was a little amused, speaking the same words as he first did before carrying on. “Just a rickety old glass. Anderson goes through them so fast I’m not surprised they’re on the cheap side.”

“That isn’t overly surprising,” you said, musing at the amount of bar fights and thus smashed glasses this place must have nightly. Your eyes wandered through the bar at that, looking and noticing Sam, playing pool in that back room.

He waved and smiled at you, quite the turn around from the last time you saw him. You stopped, face pulling into a confused look before a smile broke through. You waved back wondering at the change before you got back to your patient and Sam got back to the game of pool he was playing. Maybe because you were on their team now it was alright for him to exchange pleasantries.

But you turned down to the wounded hand, ignoring Bucky’s gaze locked on you with interest.

“There are a couple slivers of glass in here,” you said slowly, gingerly holding the palm of his hand closer to your face, seeing tell tale glints that interrupted the blood, skin, and muscles.

“Figured, or else I would have ridden over,” he said, keeping his hand still as you got to work, pulling out tweezers from the kit.

You slowly began extracting the glass, taking your time to avoid both hurting him and missing any pieces. As you went you doubted you should have your first worry at all, as Bucky barely seemed pained by this in the slightest, nothing but a presence of pure calm, if not inquisitive gaze squared directly on you.

“I’m sorry if this interrupted something important,” he said, you not paying attention much to his questioning tone though you responded reflexively anyway.

“No, just a good book, but I’ll finish that up later. Not too much else to do around here.” you said absently, words coming easily with this distraction taking up your focus.

“Are we talking trashy romance, or murder mystery?” he asked.

“It actually is a murder mystery, but I’m not going to credit you too much here,” you said, pulling out a particularly long thin piece from his palm. “The town only collectively owns two books so it was a fifty fifty shot you’d guess it.”

You stopped and looked up quickly, thinking you had hurt him as his hand was shaking a bit. But you realized his whole body was, semi unsuccessfully stifling a laugh that was threatening to shake out him, eyes dancing in humour at your absently said words.

“What, something I said?” Smiling wryly, you let the grin take over, Bucky’s eyes on your mouth before turning back to his hand as you did. “Though if your little gang here collectively owns one book, please let me know. I wouldn’t protest against a third option.”

“I’ll ask around,” he said, playing along.

The wound was cleaned and a bandage wrapped around it before long, the cut looking none too severe now that the blood was cleaned away. It was thin and certainly wouldn’t scar. Again, Bucky seemed rather not to mind it at all.

It was almost the best possible thing to happen really, the distraction allowing you to chat easily, almost get comfortable even. But that didn’t last long.

A figure walked into the bar, his leather jacket a dark green, with a jawbone-less skull on the back and blood drenched snakes slithering out from it. He was none too handsome, dark sneer wiping away any consideration of attractiveness from his face.

Instantly Bucky was up, causing you to knock your retreating fingers into his injured palm, a yelp coming out from you, a mingle of sympathy pain and surprise jolting you. Bucky didn’t so much as flinch.

Turning you saw the intruder for only a moment, blocked by Bucky’s broad shoulders and back, standing right in front of you. It was oddly protective, sparking back to your mind the reason why you had tossed and turned the other night.

It was as though the whole bar darkened as the man moved into the room, tense silence hanging thickly. Air was held silently in everyone’s lungs, bracing for the storm to come or billow over.

“Heard rumours you were here, traitor,” he said, no introductions wanted or warranted. Even if the other knew who he was, all you needed to know was that he was not welcome here. Everyone else knew it too. “Had to come in and see for myself.”

Whoever he was, your eyes were wide and mouth held in a thin line, figuring also that he was certainly an idiot for showing up here. This was the Avengers bar and their territory. He came from what you assumed was a rival gang and was also completely alone. His brash decision aside, even if it was just the man verses Bucky (which thankfully it was not, you seeing Sam moving up to the edge of the room out of the corner of your eye), you still would have bet your life on Bucky.

Bucky still blocking you moved up a pace or two, and even in his dusty leather jacket it was clear the kind of muscle and power he had. It ripped through him, shown in every poised and lethal muscle. Tall and built, you couldn’t come up with a single person that you think would be able to best him. Including the fool eyeing him across the bar under that dark sneer.

“Already spilled a little blood this morning,” he said, icy confidence lacing every word. He walked forward with a slow, self-assured drawal, chin jutted out, eyebrow raised and both fists clenched. “What’s a couple drops more from you?”

The threat was chilling, and much unlike your interactions with him. He morphed into someone else in that moment, deadly and precise, intense and unyielding.

“Yeah, you think you’re the one to do it? A lap dog that came running back to the losing side?” he scoffed. “Maybe you thought we’d forget about you. But we won’t. _I won’t_.”

Bucky was still and though you couldn’t see his face, you were held back, braced against the bar at both the fire and ice that radiated off of him in suffocating waves. You knew those deep and calming blue eyes must have turned violent, no words spoken from him or needed too.

That probably would have been enough, Bucky’s deadly glare letting the man know he wouldn’t be seeing much of anything if he didn’t get out now. But the slow standing and gathering of the few people there, rising in solidarity against the man was more than sufficient.

The man snorted a laugh, no humour heard in it, just the huff of an man whose pride was taken down a peg. Painfully slow he turned, walking out wordlessly with a final glare to Bucky and slammed the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone the room slipped back into its normal bustle, like a common occurrence such as this was no need to upset an early afternoon drink.

You should have been scared maybe, anxious to be caught up in what should have devolved into a bar fight (or more so murder of the man, who was no match for the Bucky and the patrons currently drinking a cool afternoon beer). But you hadn’t been. Breathless and still, sure. But frightened or cowering you were not. You chalked it up to shock or surprise or the quick turn of Bucky into a man made of ice and pure determined will. Quite the contrast to this warm, lazy town.

You heaved a sigh finally, breathing normally again, shaking your head with wide eyes as Bucky turned back to you, a rueful glance thrown back to Sam before a soft expression turned to you.

“I’m going to have my work cut out for me, aren’t I?” Your humourous tone was a little muted by the slightly drawn look on your face.

“Yeah, you really are.” There was definitely amusement there, his eyes shining with it, smile threatening to break through.

* * *

Well, you hadn’t been wrong. The next days were filled with bouts of injuries, scrapes, and dislocated shoulders. And getting to know the crew you were now associated with.

Sunglasses blocked out the burning sun but not the yellow film covering the scene in front of you. A group of leather jacket clad men, leaning on bikes and each other, laughing and rough-housing in a group outside the bar was exactly the type of thing you would have run from before. This was the kinda group mother’s warned their baby girls about. What would your mother think of you now…

You worked hard not to slow your pace on the gritty dirt parking lot, willing yourself forward. Most of them you didn’t know, but when a certain blue-eyed man caught sight of you he pushed off his bike, parting the crowd and stepping up to you, beer in hand, just before you tried to break through into the group.

“See you got your supplies,” he said, nodding to the bag you gripped, bringing the bottle up to his lips for a sip.

“Just in time I guess,” you replied, following him as he led the way back into the crowd, the men parting to let him by. “Though you wouldn’t happen to know why I have about a _thousand_ of each item I requested? Either you guys are really accident-prone, or you robbed a pharmaceutical warehouse.”

“I plead the fifth on that one,” Bucky said cheekily, looking back over his shoulder to you. “I don’t think you’d like the answer.”

You pursed your lips, trying not to give him the satisfaction of chuckling at his almost saucy and certainly shameless look about him. You could tell by the sideways glance and cocky eyebrow he already knew though. He had succeeded in breaking your tension as you moved through the rowdy crowd, somehow not seeming as nerve-wracking with him beside you.

Bucky managed to lead you to the back of the crowd to a little less raucous group, leaning his hand on what you remembered to be his bike (now fixed and looking no worse for wear, thank heaven) surrounded by a few familiar faces.

Looking around the circle, conversation casual and light, you didn’t realize you almost stepped on the toes of one massive person, watching you with a bit of a smile, despite what was on his face. You doubted anyone in his life had missed his towering frame before now.

You stopped short, gulp caught in your throat, feet staying planted but body leaning back away from the hulking and sunbright blonde figure.

“Glad to see you Y/N,” he started, deep voice with a hint of an accent you couldn’t place. “And I believe you are here to see me.”

The man was blonde, big, and beautiful, tresses hanging down around his shoulders, muscles about to rip through the thin dusty red shirt he was wearing. He also was sporting a bloodied, bruise nose, that you would guess to be about twice it’s normal size. Luckily for you too, since he ended up looking rather like a clown than a specimen that you would be hopelessly overwhelmed by.

“Uh, nice to meet you too,” you said a little lamely, keeping your voice low to hopefully stay out of the general conversation. No luck though.

“That’s Thor. He’s on loan, but he’s still one of us.” said a man you hadn’t met before just across the circle, the “loan” comment confusing you a little.

He was decked out in slim jeans, form fitting jacket, and stylish red-tinted sunglasses, both sticking out compared to the rougher look of those around him and fitting in with ease. He was the only one that had a sporty modern-type motorcycle, bright red and gleaming.

“Tony,” he said with a nod, introducing himself like his reputation preceded him. Which it didn’t.

“Hi,” you said, both unimpressed and amused, introducing yourself likewise. “Y/N.”

“Just need to know if it’s broken and need the bone set,” Steve said, walking up to you, pleasant smile on his face and giving you an equally pleasant nod hello. You reciprocated it, again, not sure if that boy-next-door facade was really true of him.

“And do I want to see the other guy?” you asked a little hesitantly to Thor. Not many would be able to go toe to toe with him and survive you would wager.

“That would be me,” said a woman’s voice.

You peered around the broad shouldered frame of Thor to see a redhead leaning against a sleek bike with a scarlet spider painted in it, triumphantly smug look on her face.

You couldn’t help your look of surprise morph quickly into one of approving if not amused respect (and little did you realize, most of the team saw it too). Having this lithe powerhouse of a woman take on a herculean guy like Thor (without a scratch to her, you noted) made you feel a tad smug on behalf of her too.

“Please, if she was actually trying to hurt him, it would have definitely been broken.” Steve pointed out, looking at his friend.

A quick examination under the stare of one blonde Adonis, you were quick to see it wasn’t broken, just swollen after what would have been quite the blow.

“You’re all good,” you told him assured. “Not broken, but I would suggest you stop roughhousing with women. Don’t think you’re cut out for it.”

A burst of laughter shout out of the circle, everyone cracking up at your jab. You didn’t stay though, smiling to yourself and taking your lead through the crowd quickly with a small smile as way of goodbye to them.

You didn’t realize until you had broken through to freedom that Bucky was behind you. He didn’t stop when you did, just kept walking in the direction of your truck. You stepped up and kept his smooth slow pace beside him.

“How’s your hand doing?” you asked, glad for a moment to check up on him. You had forgotten about him actually while assessing Thor, again distracted by the task at hand, though his blue eyes had remained on you the entire time.

“All good,” Bucky said, raising his bandaged hand and wiggling his fingers in a wave.

He leaned against the side of your truck as you pulled out your keys, penchant for resting his denim-clad hip against something winning out over the sun heated vehicle.

“And how many cuts and swollen noses should I be expecting from you lot?”

“More than our fair share, I have to say,” he said with a shrug, not seeming too upset or concerned about that.

“Well, I should think you would at least try and _not_ injure yourselves,” you said, doctorly advice winning out over pleasant attitude.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world though, would it?” he said, shrugging again, fiddling casually with his bandaged hand. “Having you around more.”

You stopped as you opened the door, trying to come up with something to say to that.

“I uh, don’t think your little cohort of friends there would feel the same,” you said eventually. 

Like an outsider, you still felt. They must too. Making jokes, laughing with them, or even not being spooked by some rival gang member did not mean you belonged or were accepted here.

“Told you,” he said, stepping back, facing you still. “You’re apart of the group now. And maybe I didn’t mention before, but we’re lucky to have you.” He finished by wiggling his fingers.

That oddly out-of-the-blue and sweet sentiment carried you home, again, his words leaving you confused and weirdly restless as you entered back into normal, boring life again for a short time.

* * *

 

Over the next days you teetered on the edge of confidence and anxiety, your world mingling more and more with the Avengers. You couldn’t put your finger on why you were feeling this way or which way you would fall: into crippling nerves or brazenly into comfortability. All you knew is your bank account was growing, you were getting to know the gang, and you weren’t hating either.

Natasha was sly and quiet, who liked getting others into trouble, stirring up the pot much more than she probably should. Though you thought you liked it almost as much as she did.

“How many stars should I be seeing here?” Clint said, who you wondered if he was as whiny as this normally. “Cause there are at least twelve.”

“Considering we are inside, the answer to that is zero,” you remarked, cleaning up the back of his head and the fresh gash there.

Apparently he had been reaching across the counter for a beer from the bartender, when his stool was jostled “accidently”.

Natasha put on an innocence expression with eyes shining as she sat beside the man. “Bruce walked by but he must not have realized he bumped you, honey. Simple mistake, really.”

“Damn it Banner!” he bellowed, getting up and staggering across the bar to an unsuspecting and rather quiet dark haired man holding a bottle of water in a bar, of all things.

“What did you do that for?” you asked Nat quietly, suspecting her in all this.

She reached over and grabbed the bottle Clint had, opening it easily and taking a swig, enjoying the show as the two men were now yelling at each other. Bruce looked just about to explode, his face red with veins about to burst.

“He owed me a beer,” she stated simply.

“And Bruce?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Natasha said with a shrug and mock look of pity, taking another sip.

Now, Tony was the show off of the group you realized on your next encounter with them, of that you had _no_ doubts.

“Want me to show you how I did it?” he said, clutching his sprain left arm you just braced, having wiped out hard on his sporty little bike while trying to do a wheelie or some other stupid stunt.

“No!” you said vehemently, shock propelling you to use that matron-like nurse voice. “I’ll _break_ the other arm if you do, I swear to god Tony.”

Steve was elusive and protective, and from what you could tell, a leader admired and respected by every single member of his group. Always in the background, you noted time again that still, his team revolved around him, the trusted and closest to him always nearby. You didn’t think it was because he ask them. You thought it more like they just wanted to be.

Your curiosity typically made you want to talk to him at some point during your appointments with the team. You wanted to figure him out but time and time again you held back. Why, you couldn’t pinpoint. The reason of his being the leader wasn’t cause enough. Because the more you saw him and the more you saw the team interact with him, the more you saw that kindness he wore on his sleeve, displayed for all to see. Even if it was paired with a firm, self-possessed fortitude on the other, equally exhibited.

At any rate, you had no qualms speaking or spending time with Bucky, somehow always there when you were around, finding his way to you whenever you showed up. Now often that was because he seemed to be the more injury prone of the group, somehow getting small, innocuous gashes here or there.

Another cut on the collar bone (you didn’t even ask how this time) brought you back to the bar yet again, patching up your blue-eyed friend at a small, quiet little table in the corner. Your makeshift infirmary at the bar counter wasn’t possible, as most of the gang was there, drinking and jeering as per usual.

“This was an honest injury. Not like last time.” Sam teased, striding up to your quiet corner. That comment getting him a subtle if not cutting look from Bucky.

That took a second to set in, but you weren’t stupid. You looked up to Bucky, rather close to him while you were cleaning him up, hand still on his chest to steady yourself leaning in.

“Wait, Bucky, did you purposely hurt yourself last time?” you asked, a little more than incredulous. “Why the hell do that?”

“It probably could have been avoided,” he said slyly, another dark glance to Sam who smiled in his mug of beer and smartly walked away.

“Well, you’re stupider than I thought,” you said poking him hard on the other side of the collar bone.

“What, for wanting to see you?” His words were a mix of caring and challenging and it left you at a loss for words.

You didn’t have time to collect yourself before Nat interrupted, red bob and determined stride saddling right up to you for a moment.

“Cap needs us,” was all she said, giving a nod to you before she walked to the back office and Bucky immediately rose to follow suit.

He stood up and you did likewise for just about no reason. He just closed the minimal distance between you, looking down a little and nodding a slow, deep thank you. When he didn’t move to go, you knew he didn’t want too. He wanted to stay or have you stay, like always insisting on taking you back home or at least (needlessly, you thought) to your truck. And he said as such.

“Stay with me?” he asked, voice low but feather light. You saw it in his eyes, felt it in his closeness, but the brash speaking of it was kinda of stunning nonetheless. “Because I want you too.”

He added on the answer to a question you would have asked, words not demanding or bold, but kind and almost gentle. This strong, built biker should be hardened by this life, coarse and steeled against delicate speech like that. But he wasn’t. Not to you. Not at all.

You made one jerk of your head in confirmation that you would stay, just about all you could manage. With that settled, he took his leave, walking back and into the office with the others already gathered.

So you sunk back to your seat, not knowing what this meeting was about or even thinking to guess. Because his words left you confused and speechless, sparked with an electricity and tinge of tension in your chest somehow too.

As always he left you saying something you couldn’t process or reason through. But the words were direct and intent, and it felt distinctly like he was getting bolder and kinder to you in equal measure.

You could admit again to yourself that you weren’t hating this world of motorcycles, blood, and bikers… And definitely not Bucky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains detailed depictions of severe injuries (but also bunches o' fluff, so that evens it out, right?). Also note, I am not a nurse so if you find any inaccuracies I apologize.

You should leave. You should keep your distance. Not make friends, not get comfortable. If you were being perfectly honest, you should have never agreed to this arrangement in the first place.

The resolution to keep a modicum of distance, to stay out of their world, dissolved the second you saw those deep blue eyes leave that back office and step towards you. You relaxed back into your chair, releasing tension you didn’t know you were holding. But it all came back when someone else got to you first.

“Care to step outside with me?” Steve asked, walking up quietly beside you, making you perk up and perch on your chair. It wasn’t exactly an invitation for socialization, his tone and expression indicating this was going to be business talk.

Your eyes shifted unconscious behind him, seeing Bucky caught up with Sam, talking about something by the pool table. His eyes connect with yours, unreadable.

“Sure,” you said in slow agreement.

You tried to keep your face from looking concerned as you made your way to the doors, but couldn’t exactly manage. You made a tight smile to Bucky, catching him between the crowd of people as you walked through the bar, Steve following behind you.

The cool air hit you, filling your greedy lungs and giving you a momentary shot of courage. The cloud of people and the imaginary feeling of Steve’s eyes boring into your back had felt heavy and intense, now washed away in the cool, quiet, dark of the night. It left behind nothing but your feelings.

You weren’t a doctor or nurse, and you weren’t a biker. And in that moment all you could think about was that you weren’t doing a good enough job and Steve knew it.

“The team likes you,” Steve said simply. The waft of leather and road and wild things breezed by as he walked passed you to edge of the always unused patio railing, leaning back against it.

You took another breath, following suit and leaning a couple feet away from him leaving space for your nerves and the night air.

“They’ve been easier than I thought to get along with,” you admitted truthfully, no reason to lie because it wasn’t like it could save you anyway.

He was going to fire you then probably kill you for knowing too much, though not a single relevant fact came to mind when you tried to conjure one up. No one would find your body, Steve stopping here to bury you under this very patio no doubt, probably joining countless others.

“We’ve been taking it a bit easy on you, but I’m glad to hear it,” Steve said, approval in his voice. You mistook that approval instead for a decision made, believing you were right about your lifeless body being shoved under this dank bar for the rest of eternity. _Oh god._

“And I guess I should be thanking you for that… so thanks,” you added awkwardly. Maybe if you were nice he’d just shoot you point blank and not drag your body down the road til the life was scraped out of you? Or maybe he would just strangle you? I mean, why waste a bullet?

“Your work’s been good,” he complimented. “Really good. No need to thank me, just checking in.”

The silent pause you took broke into relief cascading through tight muscles.

_Your work has been good._

_He was just checking in._

Thinking on it, you had had interactions with the core of the gang, but not Steve since you made this arrangement. Every time you wanted or thought to talk to him (mostly to try and understand the man) you chickened out. The only way was for him to pull you aside.

Maybe you weren’t going to die tonight… The thought turned your tense muscles into something that felt like jello.

“Oh, well, I’m genuinely glad to hear that,” you said, shoulders relaxing and finally taking your eyes off the blonde beside you. “The team needs a lot of patching up and so far this week’s been pretty easy… though I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Oh, it will,” he said, both as caution and tease it seemed.

“Natasha I worry about the most I think,” you continued, guard coming down a little more as relief of probably not dying tonight filling your head like a high. “She’ll push the wrong person the wrong way and get her neck snapped.”

“Clearly you haven’t spent enough time with us _or_ her yet,” he remarked with a bit of a grin, casting a sideways glance to you. “I can guarantee she’ll both _never_ get caught and _always_ be the winner of whatever fight she gets into.”

“Well, maybe I should spend more time with her,” you said, thinking that you might actually like too. All of them, really. Fear aside, they had been nothing but nice, believe it or not. Accepting.  “I suppose that means I’ll now have to share my time between them and Bucky.”

“Oh,” was all Steve said, enough not to interrupt, but just enough to keep your mind turning, voice spilling freely out your thoughts without so much as a consideration to what you were actually saying.

“He’s sweet,” you started, head tilted while you looked out to the long shadows of the woods. “Content… maybe free is the right word actually. I think he sees just about everything too, he’s always watching me. And obviously loyal to the hilt, with the whole protection thing he’s been leaning on. Certainly won’t let anyone lay a scratch on me. He’d die before he’d let someone get hurt I think. Said as much to me before…”

Your ramble continue in your head, mind pulling together what you had pieced together of him in the days since you first saw him across the bar, that calm spreading through you. You didn’t realize how much your mind had revolved around the man, or your need to talk about him to someone.

Steve pulled a bit of a face at your words. “I don’t believe anyone except maybe me, who’s known Bucky his whole life, would describe him like that.”

“Does no one else spend any time at all with him?” you asked, more sarcastic than you intended, biting your lip right after. Only as you turned to look at Steve did it click in what you had carried on about…

Expletives filled your head and were written in your wide eyes, watching Steve with embarrassment ringing your stomach.

Steve didn’t seem all that embarrassed himself. He had found someone who saw Bucky as he did, and maybe that was rarer than you had considered before.

“He chooses who spends time with,” he started, thought and seriousness in his words. “But also the person he puts forward. The old Bucky, the new Bucky, or the real Bucky.”

“And why is it just us that see that?” you asked almost timid, wanting an answer and knowing you probably wouldn’t get one if you interrupt his thoughts.

But Steve was more in command of himself than you had been, revealing nothing in look or tone. “You’d have to ask him.”

* * *

 

“If I don’t get home and get out of these clothes, I’ve never get the stench of this bar off me.” you said, smile on your face while you said a pleasant and light goodbye to the trio in front of you.

“Hope not to see you too soon.” Sam remarked, raising his beer to you.

“And I’m sure I _will_ be seeing you soon.” Nat replied. 

You knew from the look on her face, it wasn’t because _she_ getting hurt. Moreso said for the person that found the other end of her fist or was on the wrong side of her sly words.

Bucky was the last of the group of three, and though you wanted to say a goodbye to him particularly, you decided against it, taking your leave of the bar instead. You had parked your truck right beside his bike, so maybe you would just say a goodbye to that. They were practically one unit, it seemed.

You shouldn’t’ve been surprised that instead of staying behind with the others, Bucky followed behind you. And you weren’t. Not even when you felt the hover of his hand on the small of your back as you walked out through the bar door, closing off the world behind you.

Wordlessly his hand dropped away and the pair of you walked side by side, slow and even in the darkness. You couldn’t help but be glad of it.

“Steve and I were talking just back there,” you said, trying to sound conversational, but the way Bucky’s expression changed with a slight narrowing of his eye and reserved posture, he already picked up on the unspoken turnings in you.

“About what?”

“You, actually,” you said, admitting it quietly, gauging his response. Again, it seemed the ease of his presence and cover of the night made you more courageous than usual.

“Yeah, learn anything interesting.” he said, his calm and amusement usually there when you talked starkly gone. It was wary and held back.

“Nothing bad, nothing in detail either,” you assured, dropping the pretense. You weren’t getting passed him anyways. “Just how there are three versions of you. That’s all.”

“Hmm,” Bucky nodded his head back, turning away a little.

You couldn’t be sure, but you wondered if he was uncomfortable. You doubted this was the type of life that encouraged weakness, even if his small inner circle actually seemed nothing but generally kind if not a little rough around the edges. It made you wonder if this reaction was of his own doing. Like something held deep inside him, not put on by his situation at all.

“Just that there was the old you, new you, and the real you.” you said, repeating Steve’s words. Bucky turned back to you at that. “I just wondered why the personality split. You always seemed… well, nice I guess, even from the beginning. Even when you didn’t necessarily have to be. I mean, I was a basic stranger.”

“We’re not strangers now,” he said, as though he had made this point before. For the life of you you couldn’t remember when. “And the version of me you see is who I am, so.”

This was a conversation you wanted to have. You liked talking with Bucky, you felt at ease with him. You willed yourself not to back down or back away from it, trying to will more darkness to cover you both in blind security. He would talk or he wouldn’t, but you would try for the former nonetheless.

Instead of hopping in your truck, you walked down to his motorcycle and leaned back against the firm leather seat. He couldn’t ride away with you there (not that he would, you guessed) so conversation looked like the only other option. You didn’t understand Bucky, and you wanted too. Tonight.

You crossed your ankles and got comfortable, wanting and waiting for him to go on. The pair of you just stared at each other as he leaned against the back tire, neither moving or speaking until Bucky sighed. It wasn’t exactly exasperated you noted, but more like this was inevitable. Maybe ashamed.

“This,” he said holding out his hand to you. “Is the old me.”

You looked down to the hand pulling a face. “I don’t know what…”

But you stopped yourself, noticing finally what should have been obvious. A prosthetic hand. Or on closer examination, one hand holding his and the other trailing up the metal limb, it was rather a prosthetic arm. You were hardly fazed by it in itself (your however minimal medical background didn’t allow for that), only really by your lack of realization.

You had known him for a bit yet. Certainly feeling as though you should have noticed by now, though looking back you did often see him with a leather glove on it. You vaguely figured it had been for riding.

“What happened?” you asked simply, seeing his brow slightly raised before settling back into neutral look. You wondered if he expected a different reaction from you.

“An old gang,” he said simply back. “Used to run with a bad crowd. Got roped into a life I had no place in being. No desire too, really.”

“The guy from the bar?” you said with no context, as a recent memory sparked. But Bucky understood.

“Yeah, the guy that came in while you were fixing my hand. He goes by Rumlow,” he said, understanding. He had been clad in a green leather jacket and looked about the seediest man you had seen. “Part of my old crew, Hydra. Arm was taken off in an… accident, some time ago.”

“Bucky,” you warned as you zeroed in on the way he said “accident”, standing taller and leaning closer, eye blazing and finger pointing accusingly. “Did they do this to you purposely? Take your arm? What’s his name, the guy who did this? Was it Rumlow? Where are they now?”

Bucky watched you, crooked grin growing wide in the darkness as you spoke. As though you would mount his motorcycle and and ride out to face the horde yourself. Timid, anxious you. It definitely was laughable, but you were not in the mood for laughing.

You felt a burn in your chest you hadn’t felt since your best friend’s boyfriend accidentally struck your friend in a drunken stupor at college. A protective bit of fury heated you in a flash, practically expecting steam to rise off your skin in the cool night.

Your head shot forward when he didn’t immediately answer, angry huff billowing out of your nose. Bucky instead got up, standing right in front of you adjusting close so his legs were on either side of yours, locking you in. The fury you felt was real, and maybe actionable after all he must have thought, feeling the need to get close and keep you from doing anything. You didn’t even consider the entire biker gang not thirty feet away, probably better equipped with weapons, skills, and loyalty to handle the situation over you.

He leaned closer, looking down at you, amusement still playing across his face, bouncing from his eyes to his grin pulled along that strong jawline.

“That was the old me, the one some people still think I am,” he started, the heat of anger easing and as fast as lightning sifting into a much different kind of heat. He pressed into you as he spoke, making you arch yourself back a little. “If it cost me my arm to get out alive, than it was worth it.”

You were about to interrupt, make some excuse to step away for some breathing room away from the coals burning in your gut but he continued. More to the point, you let him.

“The new me is the one the group sees, most of them,” he continued, before eyes turned soft. “They don’t all trust me, and I can’t blame them for it.”

“But Steve does,” you said, interjecting this time, needing to validate Bucky for a reason you couldn’t place.

“Yeah,” he said, grin creeping back as he looked down to you still, the heat in you rising again under those cool eyes. “He sees the real me, the one you know.”

You searched him, asking the question you wanted too this whole time. It hadn’t been exactly about Bucky. It had been about you.

“Why me?” you whispered. You had to know why he chose you. Why not someone- anyone- else?

“Because we’re similar, you and I,” he said it, holding back an obvious type of tone as much as he could.

Cryptically, as was his trademark, he moved from you, the cool air brisk against where his body had warmed you. You physically ached to have it back, the night air now feeling bracingly icy in his absence.

* * *

 

Taking the ride back to the house, you went from that heated longing to a heated indignance, his words mulling in your mind, picking up speed and energy as they swirled. By the time you were parked in your driveway and out of the truck, you were admittedly in a bit of a mood.

Bucky stopped the bike, about to get off and walk you to the door, but you were already halfway there, not wanting to address it. Turning around, in a huff you crossed your arms, only making it part way before you broke and told him anyways.

“We’re not similar, Bucky,” you said to him. Even a little perturbed, you still couldn’t work up to being unkind exactly. “And I don’t mean that because you’re… well, you’re _you_ and I’m _me_. I just… We don’t know each other. Not really. You can’t just stay a statement like that and make it true somehow.”

His kindness and closeness and sweetness and protectiveness and all the “-nesses” were based on a lie. On him seeing you in a way that wasn’t real. On wanting to see something that just wasn’t there. And that wouldn’t sting as much if you hadn’t wanted it to be true.

“So than how are we different?” His voice held that bit of challenge. No anger or frustration in there yet, just needing justification, like he knew you wouldn’t be able to come up with enough.

“You’re… kind, and comfortable anywhere, even with me, a stranger Steve dumped on your lap.”

“You’re not a stranger, not at all,” he said, calm world behind blazing blue eyes. He had said that before you realized, and you huffed out breath yet again tonight, annoyed with the repeated statement.

“I _am_ though! You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me,” you said, not angry just exasperated. You never had a handle on yourself really, you weren’t expecting anyone else too, much less Bucky.

“I do actually,” The challenging air to his voice came a little more haughtily now. He seemed as annoyed as you denying it as you felt when he said it. “What, you don’t think I’ve been paying attention to you since the first time you spoke?”

He came around to stand between you and your house, determined as you had been before to have a conversation now that it was started.

“Well, you could hardly learn anything,” you said. “I haven’t told you much, if anything.”

“I know you say you left school when you were kicked out.” That was a punch to the gut.

“Well, I-”

“That you’re here, clearly hiding away from that and everyone else. I mean, who doesn’t have a cell phone these days?” He was getting more working up too.

“That’s just-”

“Someone who doesn’t want their past or the people they know be let back into their life.”

“That’s not exac-”

“You’re nervous and confident. Comfortable and out of place. Let me just tell you this? You could belong in this world, Y/N.” His words were pointed and passionate, oddly so for someone who played the role of the quiet, easy-going person. “You could thrive in it. But you’re holding back.”

“Bucky-” you started, unsure of where it was going, but he cut you off for the hundredth time though this time you were glad for it.

“This isn’t about knowing every detail of your life to really know you, Y/N.” he said, passion spilling out from him. “This is about a connection. And we have it.”

“I’m n-” Oh god it felt like a thousand degrees out here.

“I get it, you’re unsure and scared of this world, but what about the one you ran from?”

It wasn’t rhetorical, finally giving you space to speak, though you felt a lot more exposed than when you started this.

“I didn’t run, exactly,” you swallowed, trying to seem a little tougher than you felt, trying to keep from gasping for breath like you had been running, though you barely got two words in. “I’m just… resting. Taking a break.”

“You didn’t belong there, did you. Forcing yourself to try and fit in to a place you just didn’t.”

There was a personal, intimate ring in his voice, and you just knew he had at one point felt the same. You would bet it was his days at Hydra by way of the same look in his eyes as he had when talking about it earlier.

“You hated it, questioned every decision, doubted yourself, and failed time and time again because you knew you shouldn’t be there. You don’t belong in that world, Y/N. You belong in mine.”

You waited, arms crossed as Bucky took a break, breath coming fast and expecting you to throw your hat in the ring and fight him on this.

“Whatever you believe,” you said calm and quiet after some time. “You have a right too. Even to practically yell it at me in front of my own house. But that decision is still ultimately mine, Bucky.”

You stepped up passed him, ignoring his hand reaching up to stop you then pulling back as you walked by. He shifted slightly, settling moreso back into his usual self by the moment.

“And besides,” you added. “Steve and I have a deal, so you get your wish. You’re stuck with me for now. Now, can I say goodnight, or do you have another impassioned speech to give me on the contents of my soul?”

The shake of his head brushed the ends of his hair along his shoulders.

“No ma’am,” he said, sounding a little more gracious after the outburst.

When you closed the door and locked it, you waited, back pressed to the wood and hand still on the handle. Your face broke into one of confusion and nerves, demure expression you held up cracking. Because Bucky wasn’t wrong.

You never felt like you were living the right life. You had always strived to become something you thought you should be, your confidence and adventurous spirit beaten out of you over the years by anxiety and that feeling of displaced in a world you should belong in.

It took longer than you thought, the sound pushing you out of your thoughts, but the motorcycle revved to life outside and Bucky drove away. He must’ve waited like you had been, unsure what exactly to do now.

You took the creaky steps up the little washroom deciding the best course of action was to take a bath in the ancient tub. The water would take forever to get warm, but you doubted you would be able to fall asleep right now anyways. Hopefully the (eventually) hot water would ease away the self-realizations you just didn’t want to have right now. And it all revolved around a few words.

_Connection._

_World._

_Mine._

* * *

 

You had just stepped in not five minutes ago, the bubbles and heat not yet undoing your coiled mind or muscles, when you heard the unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle, rolling into your driveway. The sudden low base vibrating stopped, the quiet and crickets then sounding deafening in the silence.

You jumped up and threw on your robe, wondering if you hadn’t heard an urgent call come in over the sound of the running water, and the gang resorting to come here instead.

In a flash you were at the front door, swinging it open to reveal… well, nothing. Just the front lawn with some wildflowers and Black Eyed Susans on the side of the concrete steps, the jet black sky hanging heavy and dotted with white stars.

Leaning by his bike (as would always be burned in your mind) you saw Bucky, alone and looking uninjured.

You didn’t turn back in to get dressed or call out to him either, but half ran right up to him, wondering what was wrong. Something had to be wrong for him to be back here. He had only left a hour or so ago.

“Bucky, what is it, what’s the matter?” you asked, voice muted in respect to the quiet night but still concerned. You reached up to his face without really thinking, trying to get him to look at you.

He was actually looking at you already, but didn’t seem to be really seeing you. His eyes flitted between yours, trying to make a decision. What that was you couldn’t guess at, waiting for him to clue you in as to what was going on.

“Is everyone alright?” you asked, confused when he didn’t answer immediately. Panic was going to rise up soon enough if you didn’t find out.

“Everyone’s fine,” he said, voice a little low like the rumble of his bike. But he didn’t elaborate.

“Bucky, please…” you murmured, stepping so close your knees were against his, trying to get him to wake up from whatever it was that was going on. Maybe he had a concussion?

You didn’t have time to ask when his arm snaked around your waist, the surprise contact immediately pushing you up on your tiptoes and pressing in closer to him. Bucky’s hand went up your chest to your neck, lightly reaching up and brushing his thumb across your lip. A moment later he leaned down and set his lips there, replacing his thumb.

You breathed in sharply, taking your first breath in what felt like days the moment his lips hit yours. It was slow and deliberate, and you could have pulled away or protested. But you found yourself melting into him as his mouth moved wet and warm against yours. As you sunk in deeper as Bucky’s arms went around you tightly, drawing you up as close as possible, leaning you and himself back on the bike.

The rough feel of his jeans against your exposed thigh, slit in your robe working up higher, you drew back, gasping a little for air again.

Shocked you tried to catch your breath, Bucky’s arms looser but still holding you. You tried not to either launch back into him (god, how long had it been since someone kissed you like that?) or crumble under his contented but fiery blue gaze.

“I came back for that,” he murmured, hand coming up lightly to your hair, watching as his fingers moved through them. “Should have done it earlier instead of shouting.”

“Apology accepted,” you gulped, breath still embarrassingly shaky. You worked to pull yourself together and quit acting like a schoolgirl. But damn, your knees were a little weak.

He just smiled, leaning in again and making your breath hitch. But his lips landed gently on the side of your nose, then cheek. He released you, moving to get up before straddling the bike.

You stepped back, crossing your arms, ignoring your leg exposed almost up to you hip in the cool air, the heat from the kiss and welling up inside you keeping you more than just merely warm.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, gaze less fiery but no less contented.

“No fighting or injuries until tomorrow,” you said, finding your voice bit by bit.

He rolled his eyes a tad before his bike came to life.

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a fond look in his eyes, one you hope he only looked at you with.

He nodded to your front door and you took your cue, clutching the slit of you robe with a bit of a glance his way heading in with one last look before he headed off.

It wasn’t until you locked the door that you heard him tear away, and you couldn’t help but lean against it, unable to move for the second time that night, but much for a different reason.

* * *

 

It was just after 3am when for the third time you heard that telltale rumble careening into your driveway. You heard the kicking up of loose rocks and gravel, could practically smell the fume of smoke that billowed out of the muffler from under your covers.

“You’re kidding me,” you croaked, groggy and grumpy. The last visit was more than a little pleasant if not at first confusing. This was decidedly less pleasant and you were too tired to be confused.

As you walked down your creaky steps, you heard heavy knocking at the door. The loud sound echoing through the house and your head putting your teeth on edge.

“If this is some… _booty call_ after one kiss, so help me Bucky,” you all but spat, turning on the light switch to the protest of your eyes, clicking open the locks on the door.

You opened the heavy wooden door to find two figures there- Sam and Bucky- recognizing them in your tired state but not really noticing them.

“Oh god, you must be kidding,” you said before anyone else could speak. “Can you go at least one night without getting into a fight? Just one?”

“Y/N,” Bucky whispered, much quieter much more gravelly than usual.

He held his head up like it a strain to do so, a large bluish purple bruise on his cheekbone. Sam’s arm held around him, keeping him up with one am hung loosely and the other equally as loose around his friend’s shoulders. You realized that he didn’t look like he was standing much under his own strength at all.

You noticed under his black leather jacket, beat up and dull, that a shiny gleam drew your eye to Bucky’s abdomen. It was blood, thick and bright, and was drenching his white shirt. It dripped off him like a light rain heralding death in the oncoming storm.

“Bucky!” you said, instantly awake as the pair struggled to walk in.

Sam’s mouth held in a thin line as he took the brunt of Bucky, whose feet were barely even under him. The thick rubber of his boots dragged and pulled loudly while Sam’s hit the floorboard with the weight of the two men.

“What happened?” you said, voice loud and hard, rushing to get your med bag from beside the door.

All dozy sleep swept away at the sight of blood, the sight of man you kissed just hours before being heaved wretched and battle-torn across the quaint country living room.

“Fight,” Sam grunted. “Bad one.”

“Can you get him upstairs?” you said, mentally trying to take this one step at a time. Bucky wouldn’t fit stretched out on your grandma’s little loveseat. Once he was down it was best he stayed down, so you needed to get him somewhere comfortable.

“I will,” said Sam, sounding more determined than reasoning, if you had to choose one.

You grabbed some extra supplies from the kitchen- bowls and clean tea towels- before following the slowly moving men up. From behind the pair, you weren’t sure if Bucky was staying fully conscious or not, head lulling to the side before snapping up, only to repeat the process.

Eventually Sam got him up stairs and into your room. With a stifled grunt Bucky laid on your bed, eye glassy and thin sheen of sweat covering him.

“Get his jacket off,” you yelled to Sam, running to the bathroom to fill up on some warm water.

You ran back in, dropping it off and spilling it over on your little side table while Sam tried to ease the jacket off his friend. You ran out again, going to the tiny unused office, once a shrine to the delicate art of embroidery under the stewardship of your grandma, now a glorified closet for your medical supplies.

The space was piled high with boxes, labelled and organized thanks to one quiet morning with some foresight, and you dove in, looking for the plastic-wrapped materials you needed, grabbing handfuls of this and that as you tore through boxes.

Back in your room you flew down beside the bed and threw down the supplies on the floor, immediately snapping on medical gloves and looking up to your patient.

Bucky wasn’t looking at you but up at the ceiling, face drawn and pale and with that sheen of sweat now beads. The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched but no sound came from him, not a whimper or cry.

Carefully you lifted up his shirt, peeling the blood soaked fabric back. Two stab wounds were there, just on his side, so close together a thin, bloody strip strained to keep them separate, threatening ominously that the wrong move would make for one gaping wound. It was jagged and the skin almost frayed apart at the edges, like the knife used had been serrated and thick.

It would have been terribly painful to endure, but this wasn’t going to be Bucky’s final night. You could fix this. You would fix this.

“You’re going to be fine Buck,” you said, adopting Steve’s nickname for him, trying to reassure as best you could while looking at his inner workings of muscle and bone. “It’s not in your stomach, but looks like the knife hit your ribs.”

You reached down your bloody gloves to open up a needle and a little vial from a tiny box. You stabbed the needle in the tiny rubber dot at the top of the vial and pulled the plunger back, taking in a healthy dose of the painkiller.

Steve had insisted anything you would need should go on the list, so you had put down some heavy duty medications, not really thinking he’d be able to get a hold of the government regulated substances anyway. But low and behold, and luckily for Bucky’s sake, Steve had come through with them after all.

You held his tensed arm, pricking him and injecting the clear liquid in his veins. You got to work quickly, gently inspecting and cleaning and getting everything out to stitch him up.

“That’s good,” you said as you got to it, needing to talk and show there was nothing to worry about. Even if you were only calm yourself of sheer need and adrenaline. “That it hit the ribs. They’re there for support and protection. They did a good job tonight and kept your organs from getting shish kebabbed.”

“Will he need a transfusion? Can you do that here?” Sam asked, worried and hanging by the door. He looked ready to jump in and help at a moments notice, arm crossed like he was holding himself back.

“No, he won’t need a transfusion,” you said clearly and calmly. “It only looks like a lot of blood, but he’s got plenty still. I probably could do one here with all the supplies I have, I would just need the actual blood part of the equation.”

“Right,” Sam breathed behind you, clearly having forgotten that part.

“Bucky,” you stopped, looking up to the face not four hours ago was kissing you, smiling down at you gently. “I need to stitch this up, but if the painkillers haven’t fully kicked in, I can wait. Do you want to me to wait?”

“Do it,” he said through clenched teeth, face still ghostly pale though he seemed to be breathing a little easier. You hoped.

“Okay, but-”

“’S okay,” he managed to get out.

You took in a tight breath and figured he was as ready as you were, before squeezing his hand as signal you were starting.

If he was in pain, he didn’t react much to it, gratefully keeping still, breath not coming too hard or deep. It made it possible for you to be done stitching him up in about a half hour. You weren’t exactly an expert at this, not getting too much practice, but you went slow and were more than satisfied when you were done, considering the frayed skin. With a big cushy square of gauze lined with tape, you gently placed it over the wound and managed to take a deep breath.

“Alright Bucky,” you said, trying not to groan as you got up off your knees, a deep throbbing ache starting in your back and shooting down your legs. “You’re all patched up, okay honey? The hard part is over, you’re not going to feel as bad as when it first happened. You’re going to start healing.”

You pulled off your gloves and placed your med bag on the bed beside him, careful not the jostle your patient. You took every few second to look at him, distant and drawn back blue eyes watching you, threatening to unravel your so far professional behaviour. You wanted nothing more to comfort him, to take that look out of his eyes and replace it with the one you last saw in them.

But it wasn’t the time. You pulled out a pair of scissors and drew up your resolve.

“We’ve cleaned up the wound, we just have to clean you up now, okay?” you said, nodding Sam closer who complied quickly. “I’m going to cut off your shirt, we’re going to slide it out from under you, and place a towel under your side. I’ll give you more meds for the pain, and then we’re going to rest.”

Bucky nodded and you cut his shirt, keeping your face collected as you were so close to him, Sam carefully pulling it out from the other side. He also came around and helped you place a towel under Bucky, needing the two of you to carefully and slowly lift him. With a last shot of pain meds, you gave him one last smile while Sam went to get a pitcher and glass of water.

Clean up was quick with unused supplies shoved in your med bag, blood stained towels and used needles bagged and tied up, disinfectant cloths wiped over every surface you touched, hands and arms washed thoroughly, clothes changed to something much less sweaty.

By the time the frenzy was truly over, a wall of exhaustion hit you just about the same time as it seemed to hit Bucky, eyes blinking slow and lids heavy.

“I’m going to stay,” Sam said, whispering to you in the doorway. “I’ll stay downstairs.”

“Good,” you murmured, spent. “It’s too late to go, you must be tired too. I’ll stay up here and keep an eye on him.”

Sam took his leave with instructions for some extra pillows and linens. You carefully closed your bedroom door, taking creaky steps to the closet where you pulled out a fancy embroidered pillow and a couple thick blankets. The lights flicked off, and you could feel your body and the house just about sigh in relief. It was over. At least, hopefully, for tonight.

You laid down the blankets on the floor beside Bucky, stiffly setting back down on the ground on your makeshift little nest. You watched him, seeing the shadowy and dark curvy lines of his nose and cheeks, his sharp jawline fading behind the mattress.

What the hell had happened in those few hours you had been apart from him? And why the hell had it happened at all?

Your thoughts seeped into your dreams, traitors and enemies, snakes and machines all lurking and silent, waiting breathlessly for something to snap.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that there is a violence/blood and a minor character death in this chapter (but again, some extra fluff too!)

“Why are you down there?” The voice was low and course like a gravel road, patchy and held tight in his throat. 

The interruption to your light sleep of a man's voice would have made you jump a mile high and a mile across the room usually. But this voice came familiar and friendly, somehow with an edge of something like mischief. It was above you, floating down and snapping conscious reality back to your mind in a moment.

“Bucky,” you croaked, inhaling both the warm morning air and the reality of the last night at the same time.

In the morning light streaming filtered through thin pastel curtains, he was clear to you in a moment, rousing you fully awake. He was still on his back (as he should be), chest bare, head tilted and looking down to you on the floor. The bruise on his cheek stood out, a signal of what other injuries lay unseen.

“Hey,” you whispered, moving your stiff body to get up and stand with legs leaning against the mattress. “How’s my favourite and only patient doing?”

“I dunno, Doc,” he responded, though by his fondly gazing expression and that hint of mischievous tone he seemed just fine.

The slightly bruised knuckles so lightly touching the skin of your thigh you didn’t even notice as you stood peering down quiet and gentle to him.

“Can I see the damage?” you asked.

He agreed and you gingerly lifted a corner of the taped on square of gauze clinging to his side. Bucky peered down too, movements a little stiff but managing to see what you did. An ugly, but not as angry looking dual lines of his wound, stitches holding and settled in, looked to be healing. It was puffed slightly and looking bruised, but not anything unusual. Not raised or infected, little blood on the gauze to speak of.

“Looks like you’ll live.” you said with a smile moving to bend over him, hovering just above his face. A face that held a look that stopped time. And to Bucky, your look held the same.

An intimate moment, unduplicatable and unbelievingly magical, was created and held by the both of your looks. It stopped time and held you both under its power.

It was infinity quiet moment, the buttery yellow sunbeams lighting up his bruised, subtly smiling lips. His pale, drawn face was edged with that glow, eyes burning a brighter blue than you had seen.

“God, Bucky,” you breathed, caught up in the glow, in the feel of time stopping all around you. “How many times have you been stabbed to smile like that so soon?”

You chalked up your next actions to checking on him, taking care of him. But as your fingertips brushed his cheek, feather light over his bruise, you knew somewhere deep it sprouted from a need. To be close to him. To comfort him. You were drawn to him, to touch him and be near him, just as he was to you.

“Yeah, maybe gotten used to it,” he whispered, voice hoarse but softly tender too, slowly moving his hand to hold yours to him. “But haven’t woken up to a face like yours before.”

That endless expanse of time, your feeling of an unbreakable bond and bubble, was burst all too soon.

The jarring sound of the door opened, Steve coming in unannounced. It would have been hard not to notice the intimacy between you and Bucky, but he came in and sat beside his friend all the same. You stood up taking a step back and running a hand through your hair, not particularly ready for the gang to see you in your pj’s just yet.

“Morning,” Steve said pleasantly enough to the two of you. “Looking good Buck, better than usual I’d say.”

“Yeah, nothing like a good sleep after being cut open.” Bucky said back, playing along with the tease, much to your frown.

He stiffly propped himself up on one elbow, barely even wincing. Man, if you had been stabbed not some hours before and patched up by a novice in a country home you would _not_ be doing as well as him.

“Hey, Y/N, Sam is trying to work your coffee machine but is having no luck. Mind showing him how it goes?” Steve asked you, expression blank and innocent looking enough. “I think today we could probably all use a cup or three.”

“Alright, but behave you two,” you warned, grabbing your robe off the chair and slipping it on.

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky assured, smile weak but genuine.

“We promise.” Steve said.

You weren’t surprised to find Sam in the kitchen, peering through your cupboards for the coffee grounds. But you were surprised to hear a couple other members milling around the living room, coming in with Steve obviously.

“Steve brought the whole crew with him, huh Sam?” you asked by way of a “good morning” to the man in your kitchen.

“Yeah, we’re a bit close so I’m sure most will come by and check up on your patient up there,” he responded, grounds in hand before rattling the coffee tin. “And also a bit caffeine deprived too.”

* * *

And so it began. You underestimated Sam’s little comment about the gang stopping in. You thought, yeah, of course they would come and visit. Check up on Bucky, make sure he was comfortable and okay, making promises to see him again soon.

But nope.

They came, and they stayed. All of them. Or what you figured must be at least the vast majority. Your driveway was a sea of motorcycles, glinting bright in the sun. Your tiny little living room, delicately decorated by your grandma probably just the once seventy years ago, was packed on every surface with denim-clad, leather jacket wearing, grime and grease stained bikers. And when the living room was overflowing (which did not take long), they took to the front steps and back porch, drinking beer and causing your serene and timeless sanctuary to be overrun with noise and beer bottles.

You closed the bedroom door and braced yourself against it, eyes closed and fist clenched.

“Bad day?” Bucky asked. He was sitting up a little now and placed your mystery book he had been reading on his chest.

“I get that they want to make sure you’re okay, Bucky,” you started, lips held in a grim line. “But all of them? _All_ the time? This is the third day of you being here. You would think they would have enough confidence in me to take care of you by now. You’re practically up and about on your own anyways.”

Bucky looked away from you, shrugging. “Not a confidence thing, babe. We stick together. Fly or fail, we’re in it together.”

You didn’t want to admire that, would rather fume and fuss and feel that tight feeling of anxiety in your chest until they left, but to be honest you did admire it. You didn’t have that in your life. Never had. And you weren’t about to take that away from Bucky at any rate.

Sighing, you walked around to him and absently filled his water glass, passing it to him. As usual you were caught up in your own thoughts while he took a sip, eyes fixed on you. Walking around to the other side you laid down in a huff, moving the pillow closer to your patient. Again Bucky peered down at you, the beginnings of a crooked grin on his lips.

“Okay, I won’t kick them out yet, but soon,” you muttered, trying not to thinking about the truth Bucky said to you those days go. That you could belong to this world, these people. You just weren’t sure how to act around them now, knowing what he thought. “In the meantime, where are you?”

“Chapter nineteen,” he said taking the book off his chest and opening it back up. “I skipped a chapter or two though.”

“Yeah, that one storyline is a little ridiculous, but it all comes together soon enough. Well, I’m hoping so,” you commented.

As was your routine over the last few days, Bucky picked up where he left off and began reading out loud to you. You two would take breaks, talk about the story, ramble on about life, but often you just listened in to him, more often than not inching closer until your cheek was resting on his cool metal prosthetic arm. You rationed with yourself that he couldn’t feel it, but by the upward curl in the corner of his mouth, you knew that wasn’t true. He rationed that you didn’t notice when his fingers slid under your thigh between it and the mattress, but you did.

* * *

Late in the evening of the next day Bucky was already asleep and without the presence of his calming words, you were on edge yet again. The high pitched buzz of the phone didn’t help, making you jump and almost drop the cup of tea right out of your hand.

“Hey,” said Steve on the other end. “We won’t be in town tonight. We have a, uh meeting on the outskirts, so you’ll have to tuck Bucky in for bed for us. Just let him know that?”

“He’s sleeping,” you said a little dully, exasperation with this whole thing not able to be completely hidden. “But I’ll let him know in the morning. And between the ten people you left behind here and myself, I think I can manage tucking the _grown man_ in.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” was all he said before hanging up.

You glanced back at your tea, the steaming liquid bringing up thoughts of the muscle relaxing, peaceful bath you could be taking right now… And an idea lit sparks in your mind.

You paused, debating and calculating before muttering a weak “what the hell” and deciding just to go for it. You deserved an evening alone (save Bucky) with a comforting bath and some quiet.

With determination you walked into the living room, walking up a couple stair steps to get slightly above the crowd.

“Alright!” you yelled in the house, the clamours and raucous sounds of overcompensating rough masculinity dying down eventually. “Everyone is leaving. Meaning you, all of you. Steve wants you all back at the bar. Now. He’ll be there soon for a whole gang meeting, alright? Sam is coming now to look after things here and you all better be gone before he gets in, or he’ll give Steve an earful, understand?”

Unsure murmurs were following by resolute stomps, luckily in the direction of the door. Revving and smoking exhaust from ten or more mufflers filled the air then disappeared as soon enough they were gone. 

And for the first time in days, you finally had some peace.

The bath was luxurious, the silence beautiful, and the emptiness of the house like a blanket. Cozy and comforting, enveloping and with a softness that is hard to find when filled with intruding guests. Ones that made you reflect on your place in the world, anyways.

It was in that little bubble of contentment that you took your space on the floor when you (literally) crawled into your makeshift bed. Despite Bucky innocently (at least in expression and tone… maybe not in intention) suggesting every night that you stay in bed with him, you rested your head down on the pillow, wriggling around for a comfy position on the floor. No amount of blankets could take away the hard unwavering floorboards underneath you, but you had just about enough of them to give it an honest try.

The dark room was lit by small slivers of muted moonlight, a softer and cooler light than you were used to seeing Bucky in. It suited him, actually. Yes it was cool and soft, but also had a bright white kind of passion or intensity to it, the stilled beams with none of the buzzing energy the suns rays give.

In these thoughts you faded in and out of sleep and wakefulness, happy to drift in your tranquil house.

* * *

It was not yet even close to dawn, the dead of night still holding fast to the world, when you heard something. Or you thought you did, waking up just slightly enough to keep you ears open. Maybe your ruse to get the gang to leave didn’t work after all.

But the sound happened again, too soft for the clumsy gang, who happily favoured loud and unapologetic noises at all hours. It was a thud, like someone knocking into the coffee table or kitchen table. The second time it sounded your eyes opened, brain signalling this wasn’t either in your head or the house settling.

With a bit of a groan you sat up, looking over to Bucky, who seemed to be sleeping silently. Though he had greatly improved and probably could have handled a truck ride to his place, he had stayed, content to remain in your bed for most of the days and nights. You weren’t complaining about it, hard floor and all.

Carefully you stepped light toes on the floor, pinpointing with an accuracy only one who grew up here and snuck out more than once could know, making your way across the room and down the old stairs in complete silence.

When you got to the bottom step, you stopped, looking out to the shadowy main floor. Less of the moon was shining through down here, as though the farther away from Bucky you were, the more demure the moonlight. It meant dark black shapes melded into the darkness around it, the edges not so defined as in daylight, moving and morphing subtly.

You stepped down, wondering if someone had camped out on the couch or maybe had gone back outside for a beer (clearly a favourite pastime of the group). You walked deeper into the darkness of the room heading over towards the front window. Maybe if you recognized the motorcycle you would know who was here? Well, you knew a couple anyways: Natasha’s black and scarlet bike with the spider, Tony’s modern bright red bike, Steve’s navy and silver bike, and Bucky’s classic black and silver one, of course.

But hand clamped around your wrist hard, a concrete grasp that felt like they had reached bone and stopped you dead in your tracks, voiceless and shocked. It wasn’t the sudden feeling of a person coming up behind you, grabbing your wrist, but the pain and radiating fury of their strength.

The next few moment happened so fast and so endlessly slow you couldn’t process any of it. It took you a second longer to realize this wasn’t a friend but enemy that was here with you. 

The first realization hit when a fierce kick to the side of the knee sent you to the ground. The confirmation of that realization when the hand clenching your wrist held you up, and a fist collided at bone crushing speed to your face. The terror from that realization hit when arms encircled you, a vice grip like a boa constrictor hellbent on squeezing the life out of you in the most painful way possible.

You felt as though bones were about to crack, organs split open, your skin about to burst at its seams. Dead weight, you fell to your knees, bringing your attacker with you and the adrenaline induced need to get away flooded you, drowning you with a focused survivors flight reflex unbridled by much conscious thought.

You whipped your head back, smashing your skull painfully against teeth and jaw and bone. Your foot kicked up awkwardly but hard, coming into contact harshly with the man crotch. The combination sent him off balance and tumbling back, but with his vice grip unwavering, so did you.

You were pulled down on top of him, your back to his chest, head knocked back painfully on his shoulder. You felt his hands on your bare skin, the grip biting and hard, bruising and unshakable. You squirmed and shifted and tried desperately to get out his bracing hold on you, to get away but you just couldn’t.

You knew you couldn’t let him pin you, couldn’t let him get on top of you. You tried throwing your elbows back and smash your heels into him and shook and rocked and did your level best in the darkness to keep him from getting what he wanted.

You gasped, sucking the air out of the room and about to burst your lungs, as suddenly the dynamics of this fight changed.

You screamed out a choked “No!” as you felt and saw someone come down on you, stunned at a second assailant and knowing now you were doomed.

The man mounted and straddled your hips and you briefly saw a telltale glint of a knife in the darkness. You were pinned to the man below you and now the man on top of you, causing a scream to erupt from deep within your soul and lungs as though you were already dying. Horror wasn’t adequate to describe the feeling inside you, the petrified feeling of death with no way to stop it.

In a flash the knife was at your side, and squelching squirt noise following, then even quicker than you could react it was at your head, a gargle and warmth hitting your ears and temple.

You felt the warmth of blood, the gushing of it soaking your clothes and back, and you waited for the pain. Waited for the shock to subside to feel this torment, to feel the life slipping from you.

But it didn’t come. What did was the relaxed feeling of release around you. Was the man under you slowly letting go.

It wasn’t you who was dead, but the man below you, his side stabbed and neck slashed, blood soaking your skin as every drop fought to leave his body and cover you.

You looked up through tears and sheer overwhelming panic to the person straddling you in the darkness, the bright hint of blue unmistakeable even in the dim light.

You wanted to sob his name, to cry out and scream and run away from this and take him with you. But you couldn’t move, the only movement or sound just a thin whimper escaping your heaving chest.

Bucky got up off of you and you about groaned, terrified for a moment he would leave you here. But he scooped you up, ignoring your blood-drenched clothes, picking you up so your chest was to his, your legs on either side of his hips.

He didn’t take you upstairs to the bath or to bed, but outside, the night air hitting you. You wanted to breath deeply, to calm down, to feel safe and protected, but you found yourself unable to feel anything but utterly overwhelmed. You breathed in short hard spurts, hitched and struggling, feeling as though no oxygen was getting in. You held your eyes shut tightly, shock taking over.

You felt Bucky move, before he set you and himself down. You realized as the ear-ripping sound rang in your ears, that you were on his bike, still face him, with one of his arms wrapped firmly and unwaveringly around you and the other on the handlebars.

You felt your hair move around you as you both tore away from the house and its trauma, your eyes closed against him, digging deeper into him. You didn’t know when it started, but you began to shiver, then shake, and then you couldn’t stop. Not even when Bucky held you closer, leaning over you as much as he could.

At some point the bike stopped, the ringing in the background of your head dying down and buzzing silence filling its place. You were airborne for just a moment before coming back into complete contact with Bucky, your hands gripping him harder, threatening to never release from him. You heard gravel boots and felt your body bob with his steps, still not willing to look at where you were going.

You heard a door open. Steps down a silent hall. Another door, then quickly another. You felt yourself being carried up a flight of stairs, still harshly aware that wherever you were now, it was still just the two of you.

Bucky held you still, the pair of you alone in this place. You couldn’t open your eyes to find out where you were yet. Even when after a time he ever so slowly set you down on unsteady feet.

He didn’t pull away for maybe a few seconds or minutes or days, you couldn’t tell anymore. He just held you tightly but nothing like… You couldn’t finish that thought, shivering into him.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered to you, so low against your ear you only barely heard it. “You are.”

The silence after could only last so long, something needing to burst out of you lest you explode here on the spot in his arms.

“Bucky!” you almost yelled with eyes now wide, the sound jolting you where you stood and him instinctively pressing up closer against you in an instant. His eyes were locked on yours, searching and shocked. “Steve said… Steve called… He said that, he said you… you were there, but sleeping so… He’s out of town tonight, he-he’s on the outskirts… You needed to know, he said you needed to know.”

“Yes doll, thank you,” he whispered, a placating kiss pressed to your temple.  He held you again, waiting to speak until enough little kisses given, for both your sake and his, fingers running through your hair. “…You did good Y/N. You did so good.”

He cupped either side of your face, holding you back so he could look at your tear stained cheeks and wide, bloodshot eyes.

“I need you to do something else for me tonight Y/N, okay?” he said, thumbs moving across your jawline while you blinked slow and watery. “I need you to stay here, okay? You’ll be safe here, but I need you to stay. I will come back, you understand? I need you to repeat that, Y/N. Tell me what I just said.”

“I… I’ll stay here,” you whispered, trying your best to repeat his words through the numbing haze of shock. “You’ll come back… You- you promise you’ll come back.”

“That’s it,” he said, pulling you in tightly again. “I’ll come back. I promise. You’ll be safe.”

Too soon he broke away from you and was out the door before you could plead for him to stay. He would have, if you had managed it. He would have stayed instead, protecting and caring for you. He would have done that over facing whatever it was he was off to face, or whoever it was was he was off to find. He would’ve been safe and kept you safe.

But instead he left you, drenched in a dead man’s blood, alone and shaking in the dead of night.


	5. Chapter 5

You couldn’t say how long you stood there alone, watching the door and waiting for him to come back. Long enough for the blood to cool and turn frigid on your back and legs. Long enough for your shaking to stop. Long enough for your conscious working mind to ease the shock and take back a small amount of control.

_He left you because he knew you could handle this._

That thought rung through your head dully and distantly at first, repeating over and over until action resulted from it, pushing cobwebs and haze from your mind.

You had seen a dead body before. You had had the blood of another person on you. You knew the sound of a knife cutting flesh. What happened tonight wouldn’t kill you. It wouldn’t even _hurt_ you. It had been necessary, and you could handle it.

_You can handle this._

Eventually you turned slowly, feet still planted, looking around you. Despite the minimal places in town, this looked familiar but you pushed that thought away quickly. You didn’t need to sort this out, you needed a plan. You needed a plan so you could get through this.

You were cold and wet. You wanted to be warm and dry. 

So that would be step one.

With clicking, chattering teeth you took one slow and tentative step as though you were walking on stilts for the first time, arms held up in front of you in the dark, reaching to hold on to nothing. After a couple more in the direction of a partially open door with what looked like a tile floor, you allowed your feet to take back control and get you across the room.

The old creaky door opened with the slightest pressure of your hand, a smear of blood where you touched it. The bathroom was old and tiled floor to ceiling in chipped, dingy tile. Just like at your house it had an ancient clawfoot tub and you walked right to it. You ran the shower, pipes groaning and spraying down a shatter of ice cold pellets until after a time it started finally warming.

You sat in that tub, back to the drain with steaming hot water cascading down your shoulders, eyes focused ahead on the decaying tile. You couldn’t allow yourself to watch the blood pouring off you in gushing streams. It was some time before the water wasn’t blood red anymore. And even longer after that before you stood up, stripping your clothes off and leaving them there without another glance.

Wrapped in a worn but clean towel you walked through the large room you had been standing in, shock and trauma easing after that shower, as though the water washed a little of the horror away too.

The room itself was feeling more familiar than you first realized, something about it ringing up thoughts of having been someplace similar. The space was like a loft and completely open, dark brown wood comprising the floor and walls and rafters, looking just the same as Anderson’s bar. 

It didn’t have a kitchen, just a bed against the wall in a broken and lopsided bedframe. A next to a small side table was next to it and a couple dusty boxes in the corner, and besides the bathroom and what looked like a closet door, that was it really. Nothing remarkable or homey to it at all.

You clutched the towel to yourself as you went to the closet, your nerves shut up for just a moment as you saw worn and clean clothes. They were huge on you, enveloping your frame, but the old sweat pants, shirt, and hoodie were comfortable and it meant you didn’t have to either stand naked or get back into wet, bloodied clothes. It wasn’t exactly relief, but a kind of silent thankfulness that hugged you at finding the garments.

You changed in a rush, exposed in the wide open room, before sitting with the loud strain of old metal bedsprings under you, wrapping your arms around your knees. 

And again, for an unknown length of time, you waited.

* * *

 

You weren’t stupid, but it did seem to you now that you were, in fact, a complete idiot.

In the space of the minutes or hours you were there, dark night refusing to give up its hold, you began to think through everything leading up to your being here.

And one thing you settled on was that the group of noisy, occasionally obnoxious, though always rather kind bikers were not there for Bucky’s sake. They weren’t there to see if he was alright, to make sure he was being taken care of, to keep an eye on him.

In fact, he seemed just fine, fighting off your attacker, getting you here and carrying you up to this loft. His movements had been swift and pain free it looked like, posture upright and moving without a hint of stiffness. And even his expressions before tonight, the way he smiled the morning after, the contentment he exuded… He must have been hurt like this before and this latest bout didn’t phase him in the least.

Bucky, just like the others, had stayed there with you. 

Had stayed there _because_ of you. 

And like an idiot, you concocted a lie and made them leave.

You sighed into your hands, not knowing the full picture or having every question answered, but you figured out enough for guilt to mingle in with the other innumerable emotions doing somersaults inside you.

And now where were the others? Where was Bucky? Out there in the darkness, fighting the people who came after you? Getting hurt or stabbed or _killed_?

If so, it was because of you. Maybe you weren’t the cause for the feud, but you were a catalyst. Bucky had said more than once that he would protect you, with his life if necessary. Looks like you had put that to the test already. And it made you sick.

Now not so much alone, but accompanied by your thoughts and guilt, you continued to wait. The room around you settled and creaked, the night air brushed through the trees outside the windows, and in the dark you stayed.

* * *

 

A freezing terror held you still as you heard someone come up the stairs two at a time, but that disappeared instantly when you saw his face. It was as though the memory of the time you spent alone vanished the second you saw him.

Those big blue eyes, white and bloodied shirt, rich brown hair… Just the image of him here with you was a balm to your tattered soul, blood and all.

His name was caught in your throat and yours in his it seemed, the two of you saying nothing at first as he crossed the expanse to you. Bucky sat down in front of you, and heavily your head hit his shoulder, breathing in the now comforting smell of leather, exhaust, and open roads that clung to him. You remembered when you hated this smell. It was smell of danger and an unknown world. But now, it was Bucky. And you couldn’t possibly hate it anymore. Far from it.

“I’m alright,” you whispered to his unspoken question, rubbed into your back with his large warm hands.

You turned up to him, weary but awake eyes on his. He adjusted as you did, one hand staying on your back and the other now on your neck, looking down at you softly and pained.

“I’m so sorry Bucky, I didn’t know,” you started, the guilt a tightening vice across your chest. “I just didn’t realize it…”

You hesitated, rolling the next question around in your mouth, needing to ask it but not wanting the answer. Not if wasn’t the response you wanted.

“Is… How is Steve? The others? Is anyone…” you trailed off, not wanting to voice the end to your question. Not wanting to ask whose blood he had painted on his shirt.

“Everyone’s fine, it’s all fine,” he murmured gently. “We handled them.”

His words eased off a small fraction of guilt inside you. It was enough for you to be able to get off this rickety bed and pace out to the middle of the room.

Bucky stood immediately, moving to follow but your pacing steps to and fro kept him at bay. You needed space in all this it because you couldn’t have the feel of your skin to his- that intimate presense you shared when he was close- sway him to sugar coat this. You needed to hear the truth.

“It’s all my fault, isn’t it?” you said, less as a question and more a confirmation. “This is happening somehow because of me.”

“No,” Bucky said firm and kind, hands loosely on his hips in emphasis. “I can’t say that’s true at all. I’m the one that started this, if we’re being honest.”

From what you knew, Bucky had left the Avengers when he hit a rough patch and joined a rough crowd. This sweet man in front of you couldn’t have stayed with that group Hydra, even considering the deadly side you knew of him and tonight had witnessed to its full extent. 

But that was out of protection, out of need. A life of hate and fear just wasn’t where he belonged. So maybe his leaving had caused a rift in the gangs, maybe that escalated things to an all out war even, but you were involved in this somehow too.

“Well, maybe that’s true, but it’s not the whole picture Bucky,” you insisted. 

Internally you were bracing for the painful truth, waiting for the hammer to drop on you.

“Y/N, it’s not wha-”

“Don’t keep me in the dark anymore!” you shouted suddenly, voice ringing bitingly in the loft.

It was quiet for a few moments after the shrill echo of your voice died down before Bucky spoke.

“Alright,” he said, much quieter than you but just as firm. His eyes stayed glued on you, honest as always, and his body held back only by the insisted distance you kept from him.

“This town has what, fifty people living here? You think the other gang didn’t know exactly where you lived? It was always going to be risky, you taking the deal. Maybe the risks weren’t explained. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of the tension between us and them. They saw you as a weak link, a way to control us or take us down. But we weren’t about to let that happen.”

You focused only on his words and your breathing, ignoring everything else in the world or your past. In that moment it was only you and only Bucky that existed, and you took in every word he had to say.

“I knew when Rumlow came to the bar that he was a scout. He saw you with me, and that was all he needed. It was enough for Hydra. The meeting we had without you, after you fixed up my collar bone? About Hydra. The fight where I was stabbed by Rumlow? With Hydra. The protection you were under? Because of Hydra. They are a threat, Y/N. A serious one… Obviously.”

You had no idea you were running this race against this enemy. You had no idea this was all happening behind the scenes. You were caught up in this madness so fast you had the burning feeling of whiplash coursing through you, though your body was frozen still.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you managed to make out, hoarsely.

You were to blame partly, of that you knew, but you couldn’t hold yourself responsible for all of it. Not if you didn’t have every piece to this puzzle.

He shook his head a little, starting out with words he had all but made clear to you before.

“Because you’re between two worlds Y/N. One foot in in ours and one out there,” He pointed out the window, to home and more distantly to your past life. “We weren’t going to force you into our bloody, rough one. The plan was to keep you out of the way. Hidden. No one thought you would want to be in on this whole thing, not really. But I-I hoped…”

He faded off with a big silent sigh and piercing blue gaze.

“Hoped for what, Bucky?” you said. “That keeping me in the dark was going to work out for us all? I wouldn’t have sent anyone away if I had known all this.”

He paused, arms dropped to his sides, no walls or pretense up around him. He wasn’t the old Bucky, hardened, pained, and deadly. He wasn’t the one most saw, closed off, distant, someone to distrust. He was real and true and soft.

“That you would want to stay because of me,” he said simply. “I asked you before, actually. At the bar. I asked you to stay, and I didn’t just mean there. I wanted you to stay with us… With me.”

Your face turned blank, not quite unbelieving just… more like unable to process it right this second.

“You… you don’t know me,” you stammered.

“I don’t know every single detail about you, no. You’re right, I don’t.” He took one stride right up to you and closed the distance, his large frame dwarfing yours and sucking the air out of your lungs, replacing it with an ache. “But I do know what I want is you, Y/N. I spent a lot of my life doubting anything. Everything. My decisions, my path. But I haven’t doubted you. I couldn’t.”

This was wild.

This was insane.

You had unknowingly been going a hundred miles an hour down an unknown path from the start, side by side with him.

… And deep down this was exactly what you wanted.

You wanted one world, not this divide within you. You wanted one person to call yours. Who understood. You wanted connection.

Before you could speak he did, needing to fill the silence with something other than what could be your rejection of him and this life.

“I’ll let you go, Y/N. If that is what you want,” His expression lay still, shutting down whatever emotions he could. It was only successful for a moment. “I can get you out of here tonight, back to you old life. To your friends and family.”

He paused briefly, eyes shifting to something almost pleading, searching yours desperately for an answer.

“Or you can stay. You can drop the pretense of belonging anywhere else, because I know you belong here. We can protect you. I _will_ protect you. You could be happy, have a world you belong in, with a family you belong with… You could be with me because I… I want to belong to you, Y/N. And I want you to belong to me.”

His words hung vulnerable and thick between you, as raw and real as you had ever heard.

And for once you didn’t need to second guess. You didn’t need to talk it through. Even with the horror and blood you had witnessed, that didn’t compare- that _couldn’t_ compare- or alter what you were feeling. What you had known but fervently wanted to doubt from the beginning. Something you just couldn’t push away anymore.

Maybe you should. Maybe you should have turned and ran from here the moment Bucky left. Gone to the authorities. Described the murder and terror of it all. Gotten away from all this. 

But you just didn’t want too. Logic aside, your feelings and your lifetime of longing won out.

“Okay,” you said simply, stunning yourself.

And with that one word, the dam inside you broke, releasing tension and panic, worry and nerves. It flowed down from your chest, tightness retreating with it, and dripped down your body into the floor, disappearing through the cracks.

“... Okay?” Bucky asked slowly, brows furrowed.

You looked to him, nodding and breathing easier than you had in what felt like your entire life.

“I’m in. I’m with you.” you said, light and honest.

Confusion spread on his face, but quickly mingled with realization and thread of  joy. He didn’t ask for details or question your few simple words or your intent. Didn’t ask for assurances or want to talk stipulations or boundaries. The calm and easy expression on your face, one he wasn’t sure he would ever see after murdering someone in front of your eyes, gave him confidence enough.

His smiling lips crashed into yours, more chuckling into you with joy than really kissing you. You couldn’t help doing the same, his infectious spirit overtaking yours and a dizzying relief spreading through you after the night you had suffered through.

“I have a suspicion you can’t go long without getting stabbed,” you said, buzzing with warmth and belonging at the arms wrapped around you. “So if you’re going after Hydra or they’re coming after you, I think you’ll need me.”

“I think I’ll always need you,” he whispered sweetly and hushed into your temple, kissing you gently, just like he had before leaving.

But unlike earlier, now you didn’t feel alone. You weren’t shocked or afraid or divided. You had a place, had a person, had a world to be free in. To run wild in without self-imposed boundaries or the weight of unmet expectations. It was you, him, and the Avengers against everyone else. And it felt right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I have a loose idea on doing another seperate series where the Reader gets in deeper (with the gang and Bucky) and we actually see the Avengers/Hydra war going on, but for now this guy is finished.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed reading this series, and would love to hear what you thought! Thanks loves xx


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